His Lady Bride (Brothers in Arms) (20 page)

Hearing Aric’s sigh, Gwenyth abandoned the cabbage she’d been considering to stare at her husband. Worry lined the arch of his golden brow, turned down his wide mouth. In the face of his own disquiet, he still spared such concern for those he loved. His compassion humbled her.

Aric had wed her, a stranger, to save her life. She had been too absorbed in her own perplexity to take much note of his deed. Time and again, he had set his worries aside to dry her tears, encourage her, cheer her. And still, she had refused him the most important comfort a husband sought in a wife.

Unable to do aught else, Gwenyth rose and moved closer to Aric, then touched a tentative hand to his arm. He peered up at her in question, long tawny hair brushing his expansive shoulders.

“I know you are none too happy to have left your cottage to return here,” she said.

Pain flickered in his eyes, turning them flat, stark, empty. “Aye.”

He reached out without warning and settled his hands about her waist, then drew her closer, between the vee of his legs. Bowing, Aric buried his forehead against her abdomen, as if seeking her comfort and nearness.

Surprise vibrated within Gwenyth, even as desire curled through her belly and tenderness tugged at her heart. She wound her hands through the soft length of his hair, watching the fawn-colored strands curl around her fingers.

“Would that being here troubled you not, my husband.”

Aric lifted his head, his gaze snapping to her face. He searched deep, probed her eyes, indeed her very soul, it seemed, with his intense gray perusal. She trembled with the weight of his stare.

Then Aric stood. His thighs seemed to bracket hers as he rose to his full height, more than half a head taller than herself. Still, his gaze drilled down to her, heating with each moment that passed.

“Husband?” His whisper demanded an answer.

Gwenyth flushed, realizing what she had implied. What she now wanted. “Husband.”

“Gwenyth…” His raspy voice sizzled down her spine. “Having you near pleases me.”

His water-woodsy scent, his body’s heat, and that hot stare combined to scatter her thoughts. “It—it does?”

“I would show you how much.”

With that silky-rough whisper, he took her face in his massive palms and tilted her mouth beneath his. Gwenyth felt her breathing shallow—then cease altogether. He drew closer, seemingly into her, as they touched at shoulder, chest, belly, thigh. She felt the hard length of his desire against her as he leaned in and possessed her mouth with a shimmering brush of a kiss.

Flashes of light bursting behind her eyes, Gwenyth grasped Aric’s solid shoulders for support and opened her mouth at his silent urging.

The kiss was long, near endless, flowing like the meandering tides of a languid river. She tasted spiced wine on the tongue that swept her mouth with lazy abandon. A thick warmth slid through her veins when he nibbled gently on her sensitive lower lip, then indulged in another mating of their mouths.

His fingers wound through her hair as he cradled her head, keeping her at his gentle command. An ache formed inside her as she strained upward to receive more of his tender pleasure. And he gave it without restraint, without hurry, brushing his lips over hers again, before settling with a male moan of need on the curve of her neck.

“So soft,” he murmured, then trailed a damp path down to the upper swells of her breasts, which began to ache for his touch.

As if Aric could hear her body call to him, he removed her stomach girdle after little more than a touch. With a
clink
it slid to the stone floor as his breaths mingled with her sighs and the sound of crashing surf outside. Her dress followed beneath his dexterous fingers, slipping off one shoulder in a silky caress, followed by the other, until the gown slithered to her feet. Until she stood clad in naught but her thin chemise and the pendant he had given her.

An instant later, his hands journeyed from her hips up, to cling to the front of her fluttering belly. Then up more he moved, ceasing only when he lifted the full weight of her receptive breasts in his hot palms. She gasped.

His stare was like thick liquid silver as his thumbs flicked across the hardened tips. A jagged sigh of pleasure, of need, escaped her lips. Fog swirled in her mind, leaving her deliciously dazed.

Restlessly, he dragged his hands down her back, to her buttocks, and pressed his hardness against her feminine mound. A current of desire bolted her, piercingly sweet between her thighs.

“Aric,” she called, knowing full what she asked of him.

His stare fastened on hers in the next moment. He, too, knew what she asked of him. Something fierce and pounding lay visible in his gaze, gentled by the tapers’ soft shadows and a surprising reverence that robbed her of breath.

“You, little dragon, I’ll want always.” His murmur skittered over her skin a moment before he lifted her to his chest, her knees supported in the crook of his arm, their faces inches apart.

He indulged in the taste of her mouth, savoring her with firm lips and an exploring tongue. Gwenyth felt her heart pound in rhythm with the fluid desire flowing in her body, pooling between her thighs.

As Aric reached the grand tester bed, he eased her down upon the soft mattress, palm lingering on the length of her thigh before he stood at her feet. Gwenyth propped herself up on her elbows and sent him a curious glance as he took a step back.

Then he removed his hose and stood before her in powerful, glorious nakedness.

Gwenyth swallowed at the smooth baring of his burnished skin, the solidity of his corded thighs, and between… God’s nightgown. There he looked stiff and substantial, thick and ready. And large to her maiden’s eyes. Her breath left her in an uneven sigh.

Aric lowered himself beside her and lay on his side, facing her. “Do not fear. I will do all I can not to hurt you.”

Before she could speak, he took her in his arms again and eased her chemise up the length of her trembling thighs, over the fluttering curve of her belly, above the weight of her needy breasts. His palms trailed beneath the chemise, caressing her skin with a welcomed warmth, his hand alternately brushing and pressing into her flesh.

With a final tug, he freed her from the garment and tossed it to the floor. Now they both lay naked, and arousal was plain in his eyes.

Aric took her mouth again, tongue swirling, building more need. His fingers aided his quest to claim her, grazing over her sensitive skin where she least expected it, in the bend of her elbow, in the curve of her neck, about the indentation of her navel.

She began to feel heated, restless. “Aric…”

The smile he gave her was ripe with passion and gladness as his stare delved into her, seeming to seek possession of her very soul.

Then his mouth descended on the throbbing tip of her breast. She gasped, holding him prisoner with urgent hands in the softness of his hair. The fire of her need fanned to flame. She reeled at the sensations—the burning, the demanding torment of desire—all of which he created.

Her responses closed around her until she could feel nothing but his heated flesh pressed against her, his tongue taking her body hostage, his breath fanning like a whisper across her skin.

Then his hands began to move, like a musical accompaniment in a song of love. Fingertips made the merest brush across her abdomen, cradled her hip, clung to the inner softness of her thigh. Gwenyth began to anticipate the shooting pleasure that would come next with each caress. But even she was unprepared for his next stunning, intimate touch.

His fingers delved within her wet folds, knuckle stroking the crux of her desire in short, unhurried circles. She arched off the bed, silently demanding the completion her body screamed for. Still, he continued, adding to her agony with a maddening lack of haste and the heat of his mouth on her tight nipple. The need built between each caress, each swirl of his tongue.

He drew upon her breast again, sucking her skin, her very scent, into the heat of his mouth. Pleasure tingled in her breasts, then arched down to her belly—and lower, where her juices now flowed freely for him.

His palm cupped her feminine mound a moment later, engulfing it with the size of his hands. She melted at the sensation of warmth and possession, coupled with an odd sort of security, as if he would allow nothing to harm her.

Then he pressed the heel of his hand into her, kneading her eager flesh again and again. Sparks shot from the bud of her sensation to everywhere else in her body—her belly, her legs, her breasts. No part of her was immune to the tender persuasion of his touch.

When Gwenyth thought she could bear no more, one of his long, blunt fingers pressed the seam of her open and delved into her. Gwenyth felt her body close around his offering with greed, and she bucked against him. Pleasure spiraled to mindless heights.

Never had she imagined something so intimate between husband and wife. Aunt Welsa had always said that men stabbed at women greedily with their lances. Instead, Aric probed gently with the giving firmness of his finger.

He soon added another to the fray. Once inside her, he parted the two fingers, stretching her wider. The sensation was more uncommon than uncomfortable, and she understood its purpose.

“Worry not about hurting me,” she croaked between deep breaths.

A rogue’s smile flittered across his wide mouth as he continued his exploration. “The way I want you now, ’tis best if I have you well prepared.”

Before she could do more than flush hotly at his words, his fingers plunged into her again, teasing her inner walls. More jolts of pleasure leapt within her, building on the others before it.

As she called his name, her need climbed to new pinnacles. The heel of one hand rubbing, the fingers of another pushing inside her, while his mouth devoured her tingling nipples… Suddenly ’twas too much. The building pressure became an ache that writhed for release. Something within her pulsed furiously, and a moan ripped from her throat as satisfaction began to wash over her.

Suddenly the pressure of his palm against her pleasure point eased, almost lifting away. Nay! ’Twas that pressure she most needed. Gwenyth moaned in protest and arched toward him, seeking surcease. Aric but gave her the lightest of rubs. Still, she convulsed within, gasping as her ache soared to breath-stealing pleasure that made her quiver. Then he returned his hand to her, massaging her center in firm strokes.

A long cry escaped her throat as she shattered in his arms. Wave after undulating wave of satisfaction tumbled through her trembling body. She struggled for one breath, then another, scarcely able to understand the magic of his touch. If she did not know better, she would accuse him of sorcery after all.

As the peaked pleasure became a glow, Gwenyth became aware of Aric’s intent gaze upon her face—and her own unease. Had she been too free, too bold?

The heated gray stare that met her gaze said not.

Aric rolled toward her, above her, his face filled with impatience, with intent. He moved to settle the length of his great body over her. Gwenyth protested with a gentle hand to his shoulder.

“Wait,” she called, voice breathy.

His gaze encompassed a question. His mouth tightened as if suppressing a groan.

She rushed to say, “I-I want to kiss you.”

“Gwenyth, love, I vow we will kiss more.”

She shook her head. “I speak not of your mouth.”

His body stilled utterly. Lust charged into his eyes like a steed in a tourney. “Then where?”

Biting her lip at his whispered question, she gazed at him with expectant eyes. “You… I… Well, that is, your skin. Your body.”

A wide, pleased smile overtook his features as he rolled to his back on the great soft bed. “I am yours, little dragon. And I’ve no intent to ask you to be gentle.”

Despite the depth of her first passion, a giggle escaped her. Did desire and laughter fit together? Seeing the merriment dancing in his eyes, she supposed so.

“Shall I try to be rough, then?” she bantered in return.

“Whatever pleases you.”

Aric curled a hand behind his head and propped his head up on it. And he waited, none too patiently. Gwenyth glanced at the expanse of his bronzed skin before her, the bulge of his arms, the ridges of his hard chest and abdomen. Though the landscape of his skin was by no means unmarred, the variety of scars intrigued her.

Curious, she ran her fingers down a particularly long scar, from ribs to belly, then another just beneath the brown of his taut nipple that stretched nearly to his hip. Both must have bled and hurt more than she had in the whole of her life. And he sat, smiling faintly at her ministrations. How?

Drawing in a deep breath for courage—and to still her quivering innards—Gwenyth leaned toward him. Aric held his breath, the flat brawn of his belly taut, as she placed her mouth on one of his scars, just below his chest.

He tasted like tangy silk, smooth with a bit of salt. To her tingling lips, he felt smoothly rough, like a textured stone. She flicked her tongue against him to retest the surface. Aric sucked in a harsh breath.

Gwenyth traced farther down the scar, toward his navel. She had never really seen one but her own, and his fascinated her. Deeply curved in with a light sprinkling of brownish hair, it invited her. She delved it with her finger, then traced it with her tongue. He groaned, and Gwenyth found herself well pleased. Could she, a woman with no experience in matters of the flesh, really pleasure a man such as this?

Emboldened by the thought, she brushed a thumb across the nubbin of his hard nipple. Aric rewarded her with another hiss. Indeed, their bodies had similarities, despite the vast differences. What delight!

Without further ado, she closed her mouth around the brown bud of his nipple and curled her hand around the length of his hard flesh. Again, he moaned. The sound sent tingles across her sensitive flesh.

God’s nightgown, but he was hot and solid, with skin surprisingly silky. Wondering if the entire length felt thus, she slid her palm up and, with her thumb, tested the bulging tip, which now seemed a mottled blue.